


Let it snow!

by Zeta_Mei



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: And snowy, College AU, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Brienne of Tarth, Well this is really silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28013262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeta_Mei/pseuds/Zeta_Mei
Summary: Jaime & Brienne + Snow = ?(Spoiler alert: that's not a threesome, I mean real snow, not some wolf pup)
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	Let it snow!

In and out.

Just a handful of minutes, no more.

A quick work, and safe - or so Brienne prefers to delude herself. She sighs, forming an iridescent puff in the icy air, made toxic by the arrogant smell of Jaime's cologne.

“Stay here,” she murmurs, trying to close the heavy door at her back, but he blocks it with a foot and a grunt.

“Hey, Tarth, you're not respecting the plan.”

“There's no plan. I go inside, find that stupid packet of yours and we're done.”

“We're in this together, Tarth”, he replies, grinning. “I'm not going to stay here while you risk Lady Stoneheart's wrath on my side.”

“Prof. Stark is the most generous woman...”

“Of course, she'd generously hang you at the first Evenmas tree if only she knew you're using the keys she gave you to help the fucking Springslayer.”

“You sound like a broken record, Lannister.” The relative warmth of the library entrance welcomes them and their stupid idea of sneaking inside to recuperate a stupid gift. “Well, if you don't like to be perpetually pointed to like the one who has ruined the best Spring Break ever, why don't you go and tell the people what actually happened between you and Aerys?”

He grasps her from the elbow, suddenly gloom. “I don't care about the others, Tarth.”

She drifts away her gaze, trying to ignore the heat spreading from the point where his fingers touch her. “Sometimes I don't understand you, Lannister. If you managed to tell me about it when we could barely talk without arguing, then you should tell the other students, that's what I meant.” She'd like him not to keep all that burden for himself, her heart gives a thump directly to the floor of her stomach every time someone calls him in that hateful, undeserved way.

“Gods, if you're an absurdly blind child, Tarth,” he growls, baring his teeth in the dark corridor. “I really don't know how I can stand you.”

Counterorder.

Now she'd like Jaime to be crushed by a ton of bricks, an entire fortress collapsing over him and gently turning that curly head of his in a pretty mass of golden pulp. They move slowly, their fingers adhering to the wooden boards that cover the library walls, because Brienne asked him to bring two flashlights, but obviously he didn't listened to her, as usual, so they have to resort to their cell phones. Jaime's one flashes so brightly that she's almost drunk on its light, or maybe it's the cologne. Jaime Lannister is always a threat for her senses.

“Follow me,” he whispers in her ear, giving her goose bumps.

They pass the huge reading room wrapped in silence, turn left towards the History section, till the desk where the distracted heir to one of the most notorious dynasties of Westeros has supposedly left his blessed packet.

Only there's no trace of it, and the chaos begins. Jaime can't stop pacing and messing up with whatever comes his way, no matter how many times she repeats him that the poor mistreated books can't have plotted to hide his damned packet and they have to be quiet or they'll be discovered together in the darkness and she really doesn't want people to think... things.

“Which things, Tarth?” His roar echoes in the wide hall and this is no good, at all.

“Sssh. Nothing. I was thinking of nothing, in particular.” Brienne replies, faking sureness, hushed and hoarse, glad that the blue light of the phones helps masking her awkward blush.

“It's unbelievable how you suck as a liar, Tarth.”

Red-cheeked with anger, or so he seems in the dim light, Jaime sits on a chair that creaks under his weight, because he's tall and muscled, almost as big as her and almost as strong - in his dreams. Unbidden, her thoughts go to the night he told her about Aerys, all pale and dripping and strangely so real amidst the steam, and like that time in the natural hot pools forming into the college godswood, Brienne has to dig the nails in her palms, not to drag him into a teddy-bearish embrace, now that he looks so fierce and frail, at the same time, like a crimson poppy defying rows and rows of inflexible ears of wheat.

“It was important to you, I mean, the packet”, it's all she manages to say and it's really a poor thing.

“It took me moons to find it. The fist edition of Oathkeeper.”

Oathkeeper. Brienne catches in her breath, astonished. She'd give a hand only to see it once, to rock gingerly the fabulous book into her thick arms, filling her nostrils with the smell of old leather and dusty paper. For a minute, no more - in the end, she's used to be contented with a little, isn't she? A light, apparently casual, brush on Jaime's back, for instance.

“I-I guess it was meant to be a very important gift, for a s-special person”, she stammers, like Pod does when some lovely girl like Sansa or Willow comes into sight, and she hates it. She hates stammering and asking questions she doesn't want an answer to.

“More than special to me,” he says, raucous, passionate. “Even if I still have to tell her.”

Luckily she can't see his face, her eyes being nailed to the painting on the wall, which represents a hunting scene, probably. Brienne's not sure about it, her vision's a bit blurred by incomprehensible tears. Sooner or later, it had to happen – a so brilliant, marvelous and intermittently sweet guy couldn't but find a fantastic, smart, beautiful girl.

“Then tell her, Jaime. Don't let her go, please, you deserve to be happy,” she says, and she's sincere. Broken, but sincere. Jaime really deserves to be happy, after all he has suffered with Cersei Lann.

“I try and try, but I don't know how. I thought that, maybe, giving her the book...”

“About it, don't worry, I'm sure Mr. Payne has already found Oathkeeper.” She smiles encouraging at Jaime as he hands her a volume that has ended on the floor. “The head librarian's a stern, laconic man, but, come on, he won't behead us if we show at his place tomorrow morning. He lives with his nephew Pod in the old building that once was used as a prison. Let's go, now, I'm beginning to be hungry.”

Her eyes inspects rapidly the room and it looks more or less the same in which they have entered.

“Pod the Pet.” Jaime glances up at her, and a childish grin lits up his handsome face.

“Pod isn't my pet, stop calling him like that”, she says, frowning, recuperating a bit of energy at every stride they take towards the exit.

“Noooo, he just _woof woof_ runs always around you, Brienne, shaking his tail _woof woof_ needing only a few cuddles and a good flea collar in springtime.” Jaime's so busy in mimicking the most unlikely dog ever that he even holds the door for her like a true gentleman, when they leave the library. Soon he'll hold the door for his new girlfriend, she realizes, a sting of jealousy telling her she to work, and hard, on herself, if she wants to keep intact their friendship. “Look, Brie, it's snowing.”

“Fuck. The dorm is two miles from here.”

“Oh, Brienne, wherefore art thou Brienne, how will I endure all holidays without your optimism and your marked romanticism?” She has to shut his mouth with a hand to impede his laughter to spread into the night - an incredibly white, glittering night. Almost magic. “You want me to choke just two weeks before Sevenmas?”, he says, merry as a bell, as soon as Brienne sets him free. “You're such a cruel wench, sometimes. I'd never let you die, I'd even jump barehanded in a pit to save you from a raging bear."

"A bear?", it's her turn to choke a laugh, "And why should I be dancing with a bear in a pit and, most of all, why should I wait for a golden knight to save me?"

He sets his green eyes on her, rubbing his hands without gloves on his jeans with an unreadable expression on his face. “I don't know. It's you that enjoys acting weirdly as if you were a blond fireproof version of Wonder Woman, like that time on the burning bus. However, my room isn't that far and it would be a great loss for the community if I let freeze in the dark that noteworthy ass of yours.”

“My ass and I prefer freezing, then watching another reply of The Sword of the Morning with you, thanks,” she snaps, but there are already icicles hanging from the library roof and his hands are starting to be of a pale blue. She takes them in hers with a deep breath that wraps Jaime's smile in a shimmering cloud of white gold, and Jaime's still crowned in gold and white when she gingerly covers them with the hideous striped scarf she has knitted last Sevenmas in the umpteenth desperate attempt to please Septa Roelle. She has also to pull up the hood of his red jacket on his poor frozen ears, because he's too occupied in staring at the big piece of ice that is threatening to fall on their heads at any moment.

“Have you seen it, Brienne?”

“What? That dangerous sword of Damocles? Yes, I've noticed it and I suggest we hurry away.”

“A sword?”, he chuckles. “Can't you see the pointed leaves and the small berries over there?”

“No.” She can see only a splendid sword, the hilt and the blade glinting a dark ruby red due to reflection of the lamps and of the Sevenmas baubles decorating the small porch shielding the entrance to the library.

“Well, if you consider just the nice piece at the top, it's clearly mistletoe.”

“No way”, Brienne concludes, shifting her weight from a boot to another with the great desire of start walking towards some warm place, whatever it may be, even Jaime's, before they both become two snowmen. “It's definitely a sword.”

“Nope. Mistletoe.”

“Sword.”

“Mistletoe.”

“Ok, ok, you won, grumpy cat, it's mistletoe”, Brienne scowls, brushing away a snowflake the wind has brought till the stubble on Jaime's cheek. “Now, let's go, please, it's too cold to stay idle watching at icicles.”

“It's not a simple icicle,” he murmurs under his breath, “it's mistletoe, Brie.” Half frozen, she freezes definitely when he frees one of his hand from the scarf to take hers and wrap them in the striped wool. “You said it's mistletoe and you said I can't let you go, so I won't, not this time.”

For a blink, she can't feel nothing but the burning green of Jaime's eyes- then he closes them and his attempt of a beard tickles her flushed skin as he goes on tiptoes to kiss her. It's odd. His lips are cold and his mouth is hot, and she's close to melt in a puddle of water and she's even close to fall from the porch because their hands are tangled in the scarf and they're both tall and big and unbalanc...

The snow is high and soft as a feathered mattress when they sink into it with a muffled sound that reminds her the snowball battles with her siblings underneath the Blue Peaks, in Tarth. Someone is singing a carol, in one of the small houses past the library garden, the voice is the voice of a girl, limpid and sweet. Or maybe it's the voice of a boy, Brienne can't tell, she can't tell anything, only that she feels alive and happy and in need of another kiss. More than one, she realizes as Jaime looks at her almost shyly and, yet, gorgeously reckless.

“You know what, Brie?”, he says, straddling her, some snow lace glowing on his curls like a maiden's voile, “you're softer than I've ever imagined.”

“You shouldn't imagine me without my permission”, Brienne replies, trying helplessly to frown whilst small bubbles play monsters-and-maidens in her stomach, beyond her control.

“Too late, my lady,” the brazen guy giggles as he leans his forehead onto Brienne's, leaving a peck on the hideous scar left on her cheek by the dreadful bus incident in which she and Pod met the Heddles' sisters, then he helps the clumsy girl raising her frozen butt. “I even dreamed of you,” Jaime adds, dangerously serious.

She can't believe him - yet, may the Gods save her, she can't help but believe him and her knees shake a bit when they they start walking, hand in hand, soon swallowed by the sea of snow that has taken the place of the Winterfell University Campus.

Winter has come, finally.


End file.
